Let no one come into Wales with a superfluity of luggage; the lighter the impediments of travelling, the quicker and the cheaper is that travelling performed. Let no one, unless absolutely forced to it, pretend to travel alone; solitude is sweet no doubt, but Montaigne remarks that it is still sweeter if there be somebody to whisper this to; add to which that society enlivens the journey, and, as the Scotch song has it, “Company is aye the best, crossing owre the heather.” Seeing too that conveyances are not so plentiful in the principality as they might be; and that a car or chaise costs no more for four than it does for one; let all those who are wise in their designs of Welsh travel come by pairs, or double couples. Four is an excellent number for a travelling party, since in case of dispute the votes are either even, or are three to one; four make up a _parti carré_ at dinner; four balance a car well; four can split into two parties if need be; and four coming together to an inn are sure to fare much better than one solitary traveller. Don’t go to Wales in July, the wettest and windiest month of the twelve that the principality has the honour of knowing. May is a sweet month; the colours of the woods and mountains gay and delicate, with little rain, and generally as much sun as is wanted. In June, every thing is in full perfection, and there are long days to boot, and you may then remain out under a rock all night without damage. August corresponds to June, but the days are shorter, and the company to be met with is commonly more select. September is generally the equivalent of May, but the colours are glowing with the rich tints of autumn; and though the days are still shorter, yet the sights to be seen in them will make up for this falling off. No person goes among the mountains in winter, except those who cannot help it; yet this is not their least advantageous period for being witnessed; and those who can brave frost and snow, and the unchained force of all the winds of heaven, will be repaid for the labours and discomforts of such a visit. For those who are fond of the rod, the gun, and the chase, North Wales is a land of choice. Whether they bob for whales in Bardsey Sound, or hunt up the brooks and prattling streams of Merionethshire, or seek the banks of many a glassy mountain pool, they will find enough to repay them for their trouble. The shooter will find, from the grouse of Montgomeryshire and Caernarvonshire to the partridges and the snipes of Anglesey, abundant occupation for his gun. And the huntsman, though he cannot gallop over Caddir-Idris, will find many a wily fox more than a match for him and all his dogs, among the desolate cairns of the mountain tops, or may find hares as big as sheep, and fleet enough to try the mettle of the best horse he will dare to ride after them.